The Story of my Hidden Abuse

Revealing a craftily hidden cycle of abuse from an older, stronger, bigger sibling so that others suffering may not suffer in silence anymore.

[sharkmeatpie]

[fairycosmos]

family members will be like 😌 i do not see it 😌 about the years of trauma they caused you growing up but then will never let you forget how moody you were when you were 14

[sharkmeatpie]

Finally, better late than never

Having my extended family believe and support me when I brought this abuse I suffered to the light has been one of the most fulfilling, satisfying occurrences of my entire life. They experienced, first hand, lies that my older half brother (OHB) told them to their faces, lying through his teeth in his desperation to smear my character and steal my dead father's possessions, and they believed me, not him. My parents never, ever did anything to help me out when it came to their boys, and having these strong women in my family in my corner has me overjoyed.

Instead of teaching girls that they have to put up with abuse from men, let's teach boys how to become men who respect women.

[sharkmeatpie]

Blatant sexism

Unfortunately, my late father, whom I adored more than anybody else in the whole world, was sexist towards women. That’s hard for me to confront and admit, but I’m glad I can acknowledge shortcomings in the people I love, including myself.

Both my younger brother and my half brother have screamed the F word in my face and actually physically intimidated me, which is the definition of assault. No physical contact has to occur for this behavior to be considered an assault in the eyes of the law. Battery comes when contact is made. Younger brother actually crossed the line and shoulder checked me once when he was angry at me. My father was present for all of these occasions when these men, who were bigger and stronger than I, screamed curse words in my face, berating me for existing in their space until it actually became physical. My father stayed silent and never once stepped in to defend me or tell his sons that their behavior was unacceptable.

When it came to my father, though, he would not tolerate any mean word thrown his way, especially by a woman. We got into an argument the last time I saw him, and he wanted to destroy the entire planet because I had hurt his feelings. His own son and adopted child screaming and threatening his daughter is tolerated but not something said in anger to him by the same daughter. See the disconnect? Women aren’t allowed to get angry, but men sure are. Do better teaching your sons to respect women.

I love you, Dad, and I forgive you.

[sharkmeatpie]

Realizing that I was abused

Until I met my husband when I was 20, I had a habit of being incredibly hard on myself and not wanting to create any problems for anybody. I would mentally beat myself up for any perceived shortcomings. OHB had created an insidious false narrative about me after an incident involving splitting and stacking firewood when I was seven years old. I didn’t want to go out in the 30 degree winter to bring in firewood, only brought in two pieces, and OHB took this opportunity to repeatedly and mercilessly instill a story about how lazy and absolutely worthless I was for not bringing in more firewood. OHB took great pleasure in ingraining the fact that I was a good for nothing human being, and my mother would often join OHB when he would belittle and make fun of me.

Because I didn't want to bring in firewood in the dead of winter when I was 7, I was made to feel like anything I contributed to our family was worth nothing, and this cruel, abusive behavior from my mother's golden child was tolerated.

[sharkmeatpie]

Character Analysis

My abuser, my older half brother (OHB), was so jealous of me growing up that he would be laser focused, eagle eyed on anything I did and said in order to belittle me for it and make me feel insecure about who I was. The only time I thought about him was wondering when the next time he would strike would be. Other than that, he wasn't interesting to me at all.

Maybe the worst thing someone can experience is being ignored. The fact that I didn't care for OHB nearly as much as he cared for me and my place in the world drove him even more crazy than the fact of my existence did. I got so sick of him invading my space and my life that I went to sleep outside in our backyard playhouse. In the winter. In Oregon. 4,000 feet above sea level. I realize there are worse places, but it was exceedingly cold and lonely for six-year-old me, but it was far better than OHB coming anywhere near me.

When I was in middle school, I made an off the cuff joke that I was the class clown. OHB never, ever let this go, relentlessly making fun of me for saying that. My mother even joined in the fun. There was no way such an absolute worthless idiot loser like me could ever make another person laugh or possibly be humorous. While I knew that they were wrong, those words aren't fun to hear over and over again. Hearing that you're not good enough; that you'll need a man to take care of you when you get older; that you couldn't ever be cool enough to accomplish anything worthwhile or anything others will care about are intended to break down the victim's self-worth. They're intended to make the victim doubt themselves.

Guess what? In high school, during my senior year, I was voted Class Clown. I knew what I was, and they tried to tell me otherwise. In an uncharacteristically mean state of mind for me, I took great pleasure in rubbing their faces in the fact that they were wrong about me for so many years.

I did doubt myself as a child and into my late teens. Around the age of 22, I started realizing that I had been abused. After years of being told I wasn't good enough for ANYTHING or ANYONE, I had started to believe it. Meeting my husband changed everything for me. I met someone who did the opposite: They saw everything that I was worth, everything that I had to offer and would have yanked it out of me if they could have. But instead he was gentle, kind, loving, telling me every day how much of the world I could grab if I wanted to. I owe my life to you, Alex. Thank you for your love and your friendship. You've been everything to me and pulled me away from a long, dark funnel of a future had I believed what I was told growing up.

If you're reading this and any of it resonates with you, you are worth it too. You are strong; you are a person who deserves respect and love. Anyone trying to hammer in anything to the contrary is wrong.

[sonic-rider]

I am once again reminding y'all that sibling abuse IS THE MOST COMMON FORM OF ABUSE but nobody ever believes or supports the victims and survivors because its so fucking normalized for siblings to be awful to each other.

[sharkmeatpie]

My abusive older half brother threatened to kill my hamster in front of an entire classroom if he didn’t get his way, and everyone just laughed. Absolute monster. He has little kids now. I feel for them.

[unwelcome-ozian]

[sharkmeatpie]

My home was not a good one to be female in. That women were to be respected was not the example set for my abusive older half brother.

[traumasurvivors]

Sibling abuse is real. If you have trauma from sibling abuse, you are valid.

There should be no more of this “that’s just what siblings do!”

Sibling abuse is so often dismissed by parents, friends and etc. And that’s not okay.

Sibling abuse is real and valid. And your feelings as a result are valid.

And yes, this applies even if your sibling is younger than you.

[sharkmeatpie]

My Older Half Brother's Cycle of Abuse

OHB is now married with his own children, and I've seen him exhibit some of the same abuse to his own daughter that he administered to me so gleefully. OHB's big game was constantly and aggressively steamrolling any and all boundaries I had repeatedly, and when he pushed me to past my boiling point, it was "Look at how crazy she is! She screams over nothing" when in reality, I had my privacy and personal space invaded over and over to the point of absolutely losing it. I was a child and didn't have the emotional regulation I possess as an adult.

One time, when his daughter was three years old, in a mood, and clearly wasn't happy, instead of helping understand what she was feeling or getting her a nap, OHB intentionally misunderstood what she was trying to tell him until she started crying. Thankfully, her mother intervened and told him to stop, but there will be many times when her mother won't be there to protect her. This type of emotional and psychological abuser is insidious because they find the buttons to push on their victim or push the boundaries of said victim until the victim explodes and the abuser gets to act like they've been wronged when they are actually doing so much damage.

I wish I had not been subjected to this abuse at such a young age and for so many years because I grew up thinking that I wasn't allowed to have needs and that I certainly wasn't allowed to vocalize them. Any discomfort I experienced was the result of lazy parenting, was brushed off, and I was the one who got in trouble for not standing silent and taking the horrible things that were said and done to me lying down. I am so grateful to have learned about boundaries as a young adult and that it is perfectly healthy and normal to have them and that it is not healthy and normal or okay to invade other people's boundaries, and mine certainly should have been respected. I nurture my inner child and my own mental health and treat myself the way I wish I had been treated for so many years.

[sharkmeatpie]

This is the story of my hidden abuse

Starting from when I was nine months old, I was physically and psychologically abused by my older half brother, culminating in his assisting a friend's attempt to sexually assault me, possibly even rape me, when I was eight years old. His violent rage and extreme jealousy stem from fact that he was adopted by my biological father and I was not. We have the same mother. My half brother recently had a "pedigree" book made in which he recorded that my parents were married before he was born in 1984 and makes no mention of his biological father. The truth is that he was adopted by my dad after my parents were married in 1986, and I was born in 1987.

For years, my older half brother (OHB) abused me in secret. He would never be held accountable for any of his actions.

Even though he had my father's last name and was his son, OHB would lie about how he didn't have a dad to make people feel sorry for him. He learned at a very young age that being a victim got him attention and sympathy, something he craved deeply. My mother instilled and encouraged this behavior and was his biggest sympathizer. She would lament how terrible it was that he didn't have the relationship with my father that my younger brother and I had, often openly weeping over her perception of the way he was treated. I wasn't allowed to talk about how much I loved my father because it would send OHB into delirious rages, screaming and cursing about how unfair it was to him that he didn't "matter as much" to my dad. My younger brother and I would not be able to talk about our summer vacation with our dad, our time spent with him, or anything but superficial aspects of our relationship because OHB's feelings were more important than ours.

My privacy was constantly invaded by my OHB, who is two and a half years older than me. He would come into my room in the middle of the night to throw things at my windows, trying to break them. He would jimmy the door to burst into the bathroom while I was in there, half naked at times, on the toilet at others. He would write on the walls with marker horrible things about our parents, and I would get blamed. He would dump water on the floor in my room. causing it to drip down into the living room, and I would get blamed. I wasn't listened to when I would repeatedly complain of this physical and emotional abuse, and nothing was done; so I learned that it was okay for me to be treated this way and stopped complaining. OHB also intimidated me into staying quiet and even lying for him on a couple occasions.

This blog will detail the abuse I suffered in hopes that it will help someone else suffering in silence and receiving no help. I see you, and I hear you.